


Kisses Are Sweetest In The Morning

by hidley



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: season 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:52:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1731839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidley/pseuds/hidley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starlight Challenge<br/>Prompt: 'Kisses are sweetest in the morning' </p>
<p>Grif reflects on his time on Chorus, and how his and Simmons' relationship had so easily slipped into something other than friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kisses Are Sweetest In The Morning

Grif loved the sun on Chorus.

The heat wasn’t as intense as on Blood Gulch, and the sun actually went down to some degree at night, which was something he hadn’t experienced in the five years he was stuck in the canyon. It never went completely dark, but the smear of blue and grey that covered the sky at around seven every evening twisted something in his chest that he hadn’t felt since high school. He’d almost forgotten that there were other colours a sky could be other than ocean blue and white.

The sun was amazing for naps too. He had found a spot on the edge of the Rebel compound where the rays shone all day, warming a near constant bathing spot for him on the grass. Although he hadn’t much time for slacking off anymore now he had his squad, Grif made sure he found the time to sneak off on his own and sleep off a couple of hours before someone eventually came yelling after him.

He never let anyone find out about his napping spot, for fear of it being abused and taken away from him. He might be ranked Captain, but he still needed the downtime he had when he was a Private. And so no one could know.

Well, except for Simmons. The fucker.

He had found Grif’s hiding place within hours of Grif finding it himself, standing over his dozing body and blocking out the sun before kicking him in the shoulder and complaining about his laziness and disregard for his soldiers. Grif had groaned furiously for a least a minute, pulling himself up to a sitting position and demanding how Simmons had known where to find him.

Simmons had just snorted and replied the way he always did.

'Because I _know_ you, fatass.’

After that it became something more like Grif’s napping spot, featuring Simmons, when the maroon asshole took a break for more than two minutes. It may have bothered Grif initially, but after a couple of close calls, a few attempted rescues that didn’t go as planned and one too many incidents in which he was forced to imagine a life without the nerdy idiot by his side, he learned to embrace the calmness that settled his chest whenever Simmons was close by.

He wasn’t sure what was the exact point in which his view of his team mate changed, it had been more of a slow process carried out over the years they spent together, but that had been sped up exponentially ever since they joined the Rebels. Maybe it was something to do with the near-constant state of being on edge, waiting for an attack, having half their team in captivity or just getting sick of pushing away feelings that were only causing him distress. He was fortunate Simmons felt the same way, otherwise the sudden, almost embarrassingly desperate advance he’d made on his team mate one night after dinner would have been met with a metal sucker-punch to the face instead of the almost pained whine and overwhelmingly positive response he had received.

And after that, nothing else changed. They were still virtually inseparable most of the time, so much so that the others never actually figured out what had gone on between them, and they had both agreed not to bother spelling it out. Any stray brushing of hands or close conversations were carefully overlooked by those around them, and they were left to carry on with their strange relationship in peace. Though once or twice it had gotten too much after another near-miss and Grif had to physically hold himself back until they managed to get back to their quarters before throwing himself at Simmons and dragging him in, clinging silently to the man while Simmons just hushed him and threaded his flesh fingers through Grif’s dirty hair.

Co-dependency might have been something that should have worried them at that point, but after so long, they had learnt just to go with it. Either one surviving on their own wasn’t really much of an option anymore, and maybe it never had been.

When he could convince Simmons to stay, Grif found a new favourite pastime in watching the process of Simmons falling asleep. Gazing at the cracks in his half metallic forehead slowly even out, the pained expression fading away into blissful disillusion, before finally softening completely, leaving his head to roll down into Grif’s armoured lap, where the man would rest as he was observed from head to toe. The pleasure in watching someone’s face as they slept was one that had never presented itself to Grif before then, but now it was like he couldn’t get enough. His eyes roamed over the expanse of pale skin almost obsessively, taking in every scar, every freckle, as if constructing a map in his own head for if he ever needed to remember. He carefully ignored the rising fear that at any point that may be necessary, as just having Simmons near him was enough to usually calm him down from any panic that might be niggling at him. Just knowing that, at least for that moment, they were both okay, both safe, kept his head out the clouds and his feet on the ground.

That wasn’t to say it didn’t make him appreciate what he had when he had it. It was something he remembered every single time he watched the maroon clad soldier open his eyes, bleary and questioning as they focused to see Grif leaning over him, smiling like he’d just seen the sun come up.

It was why he never hesitated when he leant down, hovering his lips over Simmons’, heart lurching at the man’s widening eyes immediately focusing on his mouth, expression sleepy and glazed over as he brushed his mouth against Simmons’ lightly before pressing down, captured the man’s tongue and curling his fingers into red hair. He warmed at the relieved sigh Simmons breathed into him, and the feeling of hands slip around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

No one ever found out about his and Simmons’ napping spot, not even after all the fighting had ended and they had gotten Sarge and Donut back and talk began of leaving on a ship to continue on home, this time for good. No one knew where they slipped off to the day before they were due to leave for Earth, and no one commented when they retuned, hours later, fingers intertwined and faces red, though Donut did squeal a bit and bounce on his feet at the sight.

And neither did anyone raise an eyebrow, or ask questions at the airport, as they were all going their separate ways, Donut back to Iowa, Sarge off to god knows where and the Blues piling into a plane headed for Manhattan, when Simmons’ hand slipped into Grif’s and they left together, heading towards the gate that would take them away to Honolulu, appearing to all the world as happy as if they only just recently fallen in love.

When that couldn’t be further from the truth.


End file.
